


Rise To the Bait... Er, Challenge

by dragonnan



Category: Psych
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 12:58:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15461883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonnan/pseuds/dragonnan
Summary: A growing collection of drabbles, challenges, and general short story silliness (though sometimes dramatic depending upon which way the pendulum swings).  A little bit of everything... which is what I'm trying to say...This will be ongoing.





	1. 100-200 Word Challenges: Batch 1

**Bad Hero Day**

 

Lying flat, save for the spiky naughty piece in the back. Alfalfa never had it his bad.

Still, Alfalfa never tackled someone out of the way of a racing car either. Although, he had a feeling if Alfalfa _did_ tackle someone, they’d be more grateful about it.

“Shawn?”

“Yeah Gus?”

“Can you get off me now please?”

“Is that a banana or are you just happy…”

“Shawn!”

“Okay, okay…”

No sympathy for his bruised elbow either- of course Gus would be unscathed.

“Shawn?”

Oh, wait, was this it? Finally a little gratitude?

“Your hair looks like crap.”

“You’re welcome by the way.”

 

**Juliet is Late**

 

Her backpack bounced against her shoulder as she ran – hard breaths rough and painful.

She couldn't believe she was late!

She was never late!

The rain didn't bother her as much as the numbers on her brand new hot pink plastic Swatch. Only three days left to the year and her perfect attendance record was about to be demolished! Even with her parent's divorce, and the three times they'd moved, Juliet had never missed a minute of her classes.

Except for today. Because daddy had visited.

No, she hadn't seen him but she knew he'd been home.

The same way she always knew.

A birthday gift had been on the counter. Three months late. No card and daddy hadn't been the one to wrap the gift. It had been too neat and had smelled like the cheap perfume at Furchgott's.

She hadn't seen her father. But she had spent twenty minutes running through the neighborhood – desperate to catch a glimpse of his face behind the wheel of a car she wouldn't recognize.

She truly hadn't known the time until, dejected, she'd walked home, opened her gift, and stared at the digital numbers on the face of her present.

 

**C'mon Son and Celebrate! _(11th Anniversary Challenge)_**

 

The weight of the basket, on his arm, shifting between heavy and light and back again as he debated and discarded and debated once more. He wasn't entirely certain if Shawn would buy into this with any enthusiasm. Of course, there would be food – tacos and chips and a pineapple upside-down cake for dessert. And Juliet would be there – as well as Henry, no doubt wearing one of his awful Hawaiian shirts. Even Lassiter was expected to make a show – though the man claimed it was just unlucky happenstance that he had already been scheduled to attend a firearms symposium, that weekend, at the Hyatt Regency downtown.

Shawn had always accused him of being overly sentimental but, honestly, Gus didn't really care. This wasn't just about Shawn, after all. If anything, this was about the personal breakthrough of what Gus, himself, had experienced. Quitting his job and leaving Santa Barbara behind all in one day. Their one year anniversary of moving to San Fransisco, reopening Psych, and Shawn getting engaged. Whatever jokes Shawn might crack, this event was special. Gus would make sure of that. Then, grinning, he spotted the perfect gift for his buddy. Happy anniversary!

 

**Demented Rice Crispies _(Swish, Buzz, Pop Challenge)_**

 

Swish – Juliet's hair flipping in slo-mo over her shoulders. Move worthy of a 90s shampoo ad. More captivating to his barely there consciousness than the ratted, wet, tangles curtained around his face.   
  
Buzz – somewhere out of sight. Professional if not detached. Couldn't manage detached – though he tried. Usually when hustling psychics from crime scenes with apologies that were so mastiff adorable they were impossible to disobey. Disobedience was the stuff of prickly Head Detectives running high on ire and low on caffeine.  
  
Pop – as bone shackled against bone – ripping a screech and breath gulping groan. Waving wobble of spinning – sideways and longways and all ways that led to him upchucking chocolate-mint sludge. At least they'd rolled him on his side, first, and God he hadn't wanted to taste that twice.   
  
“The ambulance is on its way, Shawn. You'll be okay.” Pop – worry wrinkles and all.  
  
His butt vibrated – buzz tickling through his jeans. He could feel the outrage humming from the other side of the line.  
  
“Not...” Shawn winced – gasped – swished his hand through the air, “Not when Gus finds out I drank the last of his Yoo-hoo.”

 

**...is Not Adamantium _(All That Glitters Challenge)_**

 

“I'm thinkiiing... bronze?”

Lassiter rolled his eyes towards the consultant. He'd considered a response, again, but once more discarded reply in favor of letting the man prattle over the possibilities. After all, it was doing wonders for distraction.

“Dude, you know bronze is bronze colored.” Guster, too, was playing his part. Well – more like playing himself but at least he was able to keep it together between bouts of vomiting.

“Fine. Adamantium?”

“Fictional.”

“Vibranium?”

“Also fictional.”

“Obsidian.”

“That's not even metal.”

Lassiter kept to his singular task. Stopping blood loss. There was a finger-width spear of metal jutting through Spencer's thigh. Similar sharp spears lay scattered around them. A wonder Spencer had only managed to be run through by a single fragment. Lassiter found himself calculating the cost of this particular art piece. Of course, considering it was the artist who'd toppled the thing onto the pretend psychic, the city was probably exempt from paying for damages.

Stuttering around non-words as Lassiter tightened his belt just above the injury, Spencer exhaled a tight groan. “Dude, next time we chase down an insane artist, let's make sure he specializes in pillow sculptures.”

 

 

**There are Those Who Run and Those Who Fly and Still Others Who Fall on Their Ass _(The Brick Wall Challenge)_**

 

It wasn't even that tall. Five, maybe six feet? Shawn didn't know - he'd never been truly epic at estimating size by eyeballing.

Tall enough, though.

“I can see the wheels turning, Shawn and, no, that off-brand insurance you signed us up for doesn't cover you breaking your leg trying to scale a wall behind some dude's house because you threw a Frisbee too hard.”

Shawn tched his lips. “Homeowners?”

From the kitchen, Henry's voice carried over the clatter of dishes. “You'd have to actually be a homeowner, Shawn, and considering Gus and Juliet cover your rent I'm pretty sure you don't qualify.”

“Uh, I meant theirs.” He shot back. Obviously.

“Look, let's just agree that, athleticism aside (Gus snorted), that wall was nigh insurmountable.”

That brought Henry storming from whatever unholy housework he'd been attempting. “Nigh insurmountable? Kid, that was a three foot fence that couldn't even keep their damn poodle enclosed.”

“I rest my case!” Shawn returned, “If their poodle hadn't bit my ankle I wouldn't have tripped on the way back – thusly – my grievous injury was incurred on their property.”

Gus rolled his eyes. “Let's agree you're an idiot. Case closed.”

 

 


	2. I Learned I Hated My Father

_"You have a criminal record."_ _  
"I was eighteen."_ _  
"Oh, eighteen? Well, that makes it okay. Let me just scratch this out."_ _  
"The arresting officer was my father. He was trying to teach me a lesson."_ _  
"Did you learn it?"_ __  
"I learned I hated my father, so sure."

________________________________________________ 

 

The first time had been revenge, plain and simple. Ten years worth of growing disillusion and swallowed outrage had manifested in what anyone else would classify as simple teenage rebellion.  It had been that- but more.  And there was nothing simple about any of it.  The old man had crossed a line that Shawn had been forced to toe his whole life.  Do this, not that.  Become this, avoid all else.  Listen, don’t speak.  At times he’d thought physical violence would have been preferable to the rain of blows his father could deliver simply with his words.  At times he’d sat in his bed all night, eyes open and reddened, while refusing to let the stain of moisture leak past the lid.  It was those nights where he’d listen to the voices in the kitchen downstairs- hear the timbre but not the content- and know that something was dying.  He would never become that.  He refused.  He would be better than his father; stronger, smarter…  And he’d never foster expectations of forever.  He’d be the perfect lover because he’d give the best of himself every time, and never stay long enough to show the worst.

He would never be a cop.

It was during the destruction of his parent’s marriage that it happened. Mom had been spending her nights on the couch for the past several months- the agreement apparently being that she would be allowed to stay until Shawn graduated.  Generous of Henry (Shawn had dropped the ‘dad’ some time ago). 

There’d been alcohol that night, a bottle passed between the small group of outcasts that included Shawn, yet not his best friend.  Gus was a different kind of outcast and one that never drank anything stronger than NyQuil.  But that was okay.  Shawn didn’t want Gus to be part of this group.  These were the type that had short fuses and long memories; the type that took risks and didn’t care about the repercussions.  They were the type that his father would never have approved of as friends.  Therefore they were perfect.

Not to mention the girls were smoking hot.

Shawn had met Andi that night after several hours of drinking had softened all the edges a bit.  Tight leather and denim wrapping a form that was curvy in every place that mattered, he’d plopped next to her on a patch of grass far enough from the impromptu bonfire to avoid the sparks.

He hadn’t known who’d invited her, nor had he cared.  She’d immediately slid her fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and he’d cared even less.

He wasn’t an exhibitionist in the way he’d one day become, but he’d let her kiss him in front of the fire while the rest of the group chatted and drank and made out around him.

It was while her teeth were nipping his earlobe that she'd suggested a way of getting back at his father.  Several kinds of hazy, the idea sounded fantastic at the time.  Borrow a car, buzz the station a few times, and then hightail it to the woods and have a laugh while getting to know one another in the back seat.

They got as far as the woods part of the plan when it all went south.

Funny thing was that Shawn had expected it.  Showing both naivety and an odd amount of innocence, considering her previous activities, Andi had not.

Getting arrested shouldn’t have had that icing on the cake quality.  And yet, he hadn’t been able to wipe the smirk from his face the whole trip back to the station.  Cuffed beside him, Andi had lost a lot of the hardcore defiance and had suddenly looked anything but the gothic Barbie she’d wanted everyone to think she was.  No shock that she’d been unreceptive to Shawn’s suggestion they take advantage of finally being in a back seat before they were stuck in overnight holding.  Whatever, it wasn’t as though he wanted to marry her or anything.  Experience showed how pointless that was.

He was escorted through the station, his grin and sarcasm rising with every step. Only once did he let it slip, hurt impossible to bury when the subject of his mother rose between them. As it happened, Henry had been too invested in shame at his good name to notice. Like he would have cared if he did. In fact, he must have been completely humiliated because he tried to pass Shawn off to anyone within earshot. However, the idea of booking his own bad seed must have been too tempting because he'd almost immediately changed his mind and dragged his miscreant offspring to holding.

Shawn had been pretty certain nobody else ever had their fingers crushed so hard during printing, though his warning that the ink would smudge didn't have any effect on the pressure applied.

A few snaps of the camera and before he knew it he was shoved into a cell with two other roomates.

And Henry was gone.

Mr. Tattoo and Mr. Shit-Faced seemed content with bypassing lock-up cliches. That didn't stop Shawn from putting his back to the wall and making himself an easily ignorable nobody in the corner as far from the other two men as possible.

The ache of missing his mother struck hard and hot – meshing with the dark hatred he felt for Henry. That son of a bitch! He'd known Shawn hadn't stolen that car – not really. In fact, the asshole had proven exactly what Shawn had thought all along. Henry didn't trust him and had been watching him – waiting for him to screw up. _Well congrats old man, you established your son was the waste of time you'd always thought he was._

Shawn scrubbed quickly at the wet on his cheeks, his gaze immediately going towards the large men on the other side of the cell. They were still ignoring him, Mr. Tattoo scratching his back before rolling over on one of the two cots provided. Drunky had the other one, and was so deeply passed out he'd be lucky if a shotgun blast startled him.

There was no other sound but the wet catch between their snores.

He couldn't stay here any longer. Gus was going to college anyhow and with mom leaving the state, there was nothing left to keep Shawn here.

His thumb scraped beneath his eyes. He'd be damned if he cried because of this. He'd be damned if he ever shed another tear because of his old man.

Sniffing and shuddering the breath in his lungs, he clenched his teeth together while the convulsions locked in his throat. Tonight was the last night.

From this day forward, Henry Spencer would never dictate another second of his life.

From this moment on, Shawn was going to be all smiles.

This was his damn life, and he was going to love it.


End file.
